The Afghan Whigs – review

Greg Dulli addresses the boxes at London's Koko: "You've got to have sex up there! I want to see your faces while you're at it." It's just the kind of thing you'd expect from the 48-year-old grunge lothario, an attractively knackered gonzo figure who has spent the last few years weaning himself off cocaine, managing bars, playing with Mark Lanegan and "running" David Simon-style with a gang in New Orleans, apparently researching a film script. It's a dumb comment in an otherwise sophisticated evening but doesn't deter the crowd who, transported back to the smoke-filled student unions of 1992, adore him.

The Afghan Whigs, who've reformed after 11 years, always stood apart from other bands on the legendary Sub Pop roster (Nirvana, Soundgarden) for their taste in soul music and their liberal attitude to cover versions. They recorded (among countless other songs) Barry White's Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe, TLC's Creep and Justin Timberlake's Lovestoned.

Tonight, halfway through the psychedlic Bulletproof, Dulli breaks into Where Did Our Love Go by the Supremes. His funky Omerta morphs into the Beatles' She Loves You, the two linked together by a "yeah yeah yeah" refrain. Dulli has a rare ear for musical connections and the kind of self-confidence that means he can get away with playing anything. His take on Frank Ocean's snaky Lovecrimes is strikingly faithful, and on See and Don't See (by soul singer Marie "Queenie" Lyons) he sounds like the reclusive Lewis Taylor.

The Afghan Whigs' own material stands up to time in the same way Alex Chilton's does, with Dulli's ramshackle delivery bringing out the warm, human heart of Crime Scene, Part One and Summer's Kiss. Tales of addiction and depression sound different with 1,400 people singing along, too. There are communal, Proustian rushes back to isolated adolescence and the kind of moping misery only the young can feel. It's exhilarating popping back there.